Stranded
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: Sherlock and John are stuck together...in several situations. Well, this can only go one of two ways...good..or bad. Prompt for chaosisblue on tumblr. Johnlock...but nothing beyond the funny bromance they already have.
1. Chapter 1

This is a prompt fill for my friend chaosisblue. Interesting fact, she's the only person on tumblr that I know in real life. Lol. Yay crossovers! Anyway...she wanted a story, so she texted me and asked for what ended up being this little gem. Hope you enjoy it, my dear!

Oh, I don't own anything...just love me some bromantic domestics. Lol. Enjoy!

Stranded

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''John! Come on!'' Sherlock Holmes shouted to his shorter friend, who was trying to keep up. John was breathing out curse words, in between trying to gasp in more air and energy to keep up. They ran along the long dock that led out to the sea, chasing after three men. It was a seven, and John had only barely convinced Sherlock to take on the case at all. However, what had seemed on the surface to be a simple case of family jealousy issues, turned out to be a whole jewel smuggling ring, when looked at from the right eye.

Currently, the three they were chasing had been the only three on this privately owned isle, and Sherlock was determined that they would not leave. Unfortunately, a notch in one board on the dock said differently, and the detective fell face first. The men took the opportunity to make a mad dash for the boat at the end of the long boardwalk, and jumped in after each other. Without any hesitation from the motor, the criminals sped off in the small boat. Make that the last boat. John finally caught up, just in time to help a now-very irritated Sherlock, up to his feet.

''Are you okay?" John asked as he looked his friend over. Sherlock waved him off, nodding his head a bit.

''Fine. The question remains, what are we going to do now?" Sherlock looked around at the few other docks which lined the shore. Not a single boat could be seen. The two each flipped out their phones, searching for a signal. None. They each let out a sigh of resignation, and looked to each other.

''Well, either we wait for Lestrade to notice we haven't come back, or we try to set up a shelter and send out some sort of signal.'' John presented the options to his stoic cohort, who was currently sulking as he glared at the piece of wood that had foiled his attempt. John chuckled and shook his head, before walking back toward the shore. Sherlock finally looked up, and eventually followed.

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Four Hours Later:

''You know, you could help. Instead of just sitting there.'' John heaved out as he hauled over another large branch for the pile he was collecting. He had been at it for nearly three hours, after spending a considerable amount of time trying to locate where they were. Sherlock, in the meantime, had done nothing to help, apart from lending a critical word to John's technique.

''I'm fine.'' Came the reply. Sherlock was currently staring up at the grey skies, seemingly lost in thought. He could hear John muttering to himself, and smirked at the sarcastic conversation he carried on for the both of them.

''What's that, Sherlock? You don't want to help? Lovely. 'Oh, it's no problem, John. I just don't want to disappoint you by being a normal human being for once. Carry on.' Oh, thank you. My faith in the humanity of sociopaths everywhere has been preserved. So thank you.'' John continued his ranting monologue as he stalked back and forth between his growing burn pile and the line of trees just yards away.

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One Hour Later:

''Sherlock, have you got a match? Or a lighter?" John asked, hovering over his friend, who had yet to move from his spot. Sherlock lied on the ground, hands peaked under his chin. John kicked at his side, to which the consulting detective huffed a sigh and opened his eyes.

''What do you want, John? Can't you see I'm busy thinking?" Sherlock's eyes widened as he looked himself over, as if it were an obvious fact. John sneered a bit, biting back the comment he wanted to make.

''Your lighter. Or a match. Please.'' John snipped out the words with deliberate irritation. He knew the implied message would be missed by the otherwise genius, but it made him feel better all the same. Sherlock sighed, before rummaging in his pocket and pulling out a small box of matches. John nodded, rolled his eyes, and turned back to his pile of wood.

''It hardly matters. It's going to rain in twenty or so minutes. Hardly enough time to create a substantial fire that could survive the brunt of the storm.'' Sherlock's indifferent voice called. John stopped in his tracks immediately, before rounding back.

''Sorry, what?"

''Rain, John. It's going to rain. I've been watching the weather patterns over us. The change in air temperature, combined with current air flow and being over a large body of water, it's going to rain. Quite a lot, too, judging by the dark clouds that are just miles out.'' Sherlock didn't open his eyes, merely pointed out to sea. John could see the large storm head rolling closer. His level of impatience reached a new high.

''You've been watching? How long, would you say, have you been watching?" John's arms began to make erratic gestures, trying to help him get his point across. Sherlock glanced at his watch, pondering for a moment.

''I'd say three hours.'' He stated bluntly. John's eyes widened with anger, and he took to kicking the sand under his feet wildly. Sherlock sat up quickly, his look of shock only adding to John's irritated streak.

''You could have told me that before I lugged an entire tree over here! Sherlock!" John hollered. He paced back and forth now, trying to force himself to be calm. The thing that stopped him was a large rain drop, hitting him square on the nose. John looked up at the clouds, and another drop planted itself on his forehead.

''Oh, bloody hell.'' John mumbled, before walking toward the large covering of trees. Sherlock jumped to a standing position and ran after him. The sky darkened quickly, and the rain grew heavier by the time the two men had reached the trees.

''This is your fault, you know. If you hadn't tripped, we'd have caught them, and the boat.'' John muttered as he crossed his arms in a huff.

''Let's just try not to die from onset pneumonia, and figure things out in the morning.'' Sherlock glowered, copying John's actions by crossing his arms. The rain raged on, and the two sat silently, getting drenched, despite their cover.

OoOo

The Next Morning:

They had leaned against each other during the night, neither content with the idea of sleeping in the mud. The sound of their names being called was what woke them. John nudged the sleeping detective, who was immediately on his feet. They walked out into the clearing, to see Lestrade and a small team walking up the dock. John practically ran out to meet him, shaking hands happily and walking toward the boat. Sherlock followed a few paces behind the rest of them, and Lestrade looked back and forth between the two quiet men.

''Have a lovely island holiday, did you?" Greg joked, but immediately wiped the smile from his face at the glares he received from both Sherlock and John. They all clambered in the boat, with Sherlock still walking up the dock.

''I say we leave him here.'' John called out, to which Sherlock gave a warning glance. John reacted with a defiant face, his hand reaching over to the motor of the small rescue boat. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly, and he took off in a sprint. However, all the stress from the previous 24 hours was instantly wiped away, as Sherlock fell face first, tripping over a familiar notch in the dock. John fell back into his seat on the boat, holding his stomach as he roared with laughter. Sherlock stood to his feet, brushed himself off, and proceeded to join them. As they sailed away, the consulting detective could feel two bruises forming: one in his knee, and a much bigger one in his ego.

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Well, that was so much fun to write. I hope you liked it, everyone. Again, this is for my dear chaosisblue. Love you! Tell me what you all think?


	2. Chapter 2

So basically, my dear friend, chaosisblue, has asked me to write basically a lot of stories, all of which involve Sherlock and John getting stuck places. So, the original one-shot (or one off, as she calls them lol) Stranded, is now becoming a mini case book of unfortunate mishaps involving our favorite duo. I should remind you all, this is NOT a Johnlock fic, aside from their quite obvious bromance, which I think is hilarious. Anyway, here is the second story, involving Sherlock, John, a few bystanders, and the Eye. ;) Hope you enjoy this!

Stranded: the Eye

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John Watson and Sherlock Holmes were currently standing in the line to board one of the observation pods of the great London Eye. John wasn't entirely sure why they were there in the first place, aside from Sherlock's insistence.

''Tell me why we're here again.'' John spoke, his voice almost forming the phrase into a question. Sherlock didn't glance to his friend, but merely looked around at the other people queued up with them. 'One old couple, on a weekly date. Two single men, one is straight, the other not so much. Four American exchange students, skipping class for a day out.' He then answered John, after taking his tally.

''I need to update the information I have of the streets in this area. From the top of the Eye I can get an excellent view of all the streets where there is an increased crime rate, as well as see what detours are in place due to construction. Not to mention, it gives us a reason to get out of the flat. Mrs. Hudson has been a bit pushy with her biscuits lately. You've gained nearly two pounds. Can't have you getting doughy when there's criminals to be chased down, now can we?" Sherlock listed off as they moved closer, to which John scowled at the last jibe. He looked down at his stomach, then stood awkwardly upright.

''I am not getting 'doughy'. Besides, you've eaten some of the biscuits too.'' John countered, to which Sherlock gave him a look of contempt.

''Exactly. As I said, doughy.'' He looked down to his own stomach, which still seemed flatter than a pancake. Two of the American girls had overheard Sherlock discussing the biscuits, as well as John and his weight, and they giggled quietly. The sound did not go unheard by John, however, and he glowered at Sherlock. Soon, they were boarding the ride, which started its slow incline into the air, high above the view of London. Sherlock immediately took to gazing at the roads below, cataloguing and changing the map that was already in place in his mind. John took the opportunity of his friend's silence to simply enjoy the view.

They had reached the top, when suddenly, the giant wheel crawled to a slower pace, before it simply quit moving all together. The other people aboard the pod with them looked down at the base to see if they could spot a source of reason. Some looked around at each other, making small talk about it. However, Sherlock took the opportunity to span his sight over the expanse of greater London, taking in as much information as he could.

Thirty minutes had passed, and the great Eye of London was still stopped dead in her tracks. The servicemen had informed the passengers of the delay, and that it would soon be resolved. So, in the meantime, people had began to mingle with others in their pods. The older couple in the pod with John and Sherlock were chatting with the young single man who was not currently chatting up two of the Americans. John was currently in a conversation with the other two, who were asking him to point things out to them from the pod. He was in the middle of explaining to them the importance of round-abouts in their traffic system, when he was interrupted by a holler from the other side of the pod.

''John! John, come and see this! Oh, this is beautiful!" He turned to the window again, and gazed at the mystery site. John tried ignoring him, but the young women cooed over the excitement of the other an.

''Aw, that is so sweet. How long have you been with him?" One of the girls asked. John had started to reply, when he caught on to their true meaning of 'with'.

''About two and a half yea-...oh! Oh no, no no. We're not 'together' in that sense. He's just my...''

''John! Seriously, there is genius in the making and you are missing it!" Sherlock called again. This caused the American girls to giggle more, and John to roll his eyes. He had gone back to now attempting to explain his orientation, when Sherlock stormed over to them.

''Pardon me, ladies. I need to steal my doctor away so he can observe a truly amazing wonder. Thank you. John, come on.'' With the curt bow he gave to the two, he then yanked John behind him by his coat sleeve. The girls fawned over the 'cute' display as John was towed away, unable to defend his masculinity.

''Aw, he calls him his doctor. That is so adorable!" They said. John was stumbling over words as he tried to explain.

''No..no but I really am a doc...ugh. Never mind. What is it, Sherlock?" He finally gave up, turning to see a most excited consulting detective facing the window. He pointed down to the ground, before pulling John closer, so that they shared the same eye line.

''There, just there John. Three blocks to the right. Crime. Beautiful, wonderful crime. And we get to see it from above. Oh, this is fantastic! This...this is a treat, John. As soon as we return to the ground, phone Lestrade. Oh, it's Christmas!" Sherlock's hands moved frantically in front of his chest as he acted, well simply giddy over the prospects of getting a different angle on criminal behavior. John's mouth gaped open as he saw three men currently running out and back into a small jewelry shop, carrying bags full of an nondescript amount of gems and valuable items. John pulled his phone out to phone the Yard, when his hand was clasped hard by Sherlock's.

''No John,'' he said with an intense look down at the doctor, ''there's nothing they can do until we get there. And there's nothing I want them trying to do until we get there.'' He emphasised that point quite poignantly, and John rolled his eyes. He then looked down, noting that Sherlock's hand was tightly gripped around his, and he could distinctly hear the American girls cooing from across the way. As soon as he opened his mouth to correct their assumption, the wheel started to move again, and a loud voice called over an intercom that they would all be returning to the ground soon.

As they left the pods, the America girls called out sweetly to the two men, wishing them good luck. Sherlock turned and replied with a 'thank you', while John just shoved his hands into his pockets bitterly. They took off toward the street where the robbery had taken place, John remained silent for a long while. After a few minutes, Sherlock turned to look at his friend.

''You're upset. Why are you upset?'' He asked, to which John flared.

''Why am I upset? Hm, well, for starters, you're an insane git, who gets his jollies from a bird's eye view of a robbery. Meanwhile, your actions, which you don't even understand can be misconstrued, have led several people, both friends and strangers, to believe that we are, in fact, in a romantic relationship, Sherlock!'' He bellowed to the pale genius. Moments later, his brows furrowed, as he tried comprehending why the doctor was so angry.

''People talk, and presume things are what they appear to be at face value. I thought you'd gotten over this, John. People do little else but talk. Why should you care?" He answered, seeming genuinely confused. John ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

''Because, unlike you, I may fancy an actual go at a relationship. With another person. Who happens to be female. You know what? You clearly don't understand, you bloody robot. Have fun on your case. I'm going to a pub or something.'' John stormed off, leaving a rather confused detective in his wake. After a moment, Sherlock yelled to him.

''Not too much beer, John! Remember, doughy!" He pointed to his own stomach, to which the blond man gruffed loudly in frustration, stalking off around the corner. Sherlock merely shrugged, before happily walking into the jewelry store.

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Well, that was entirely too fun. I like this one a lot! Oh the romantic implications. Any who, tell me what you think. Pleeeaaasse?


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm glad people are enjoying it, and my dear chaosisblue is enjoying it too. So, without further ado, and without claiming any ownership whatsoever, I give you Ch. 3! Enjoy!

Stranded: The Lift

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It was a seemingly normal day. No cases, so John found himself following Sherlock to St. Bart's hospital. The detective was in desperate need of a creative outlet. His many experiments held within the lab there were more than enough to help. John struggled to keep up with him, as Sherlock quickly strode down the hall toward the lifts. He barely managed to scramble into the lift behind his friend, before the doors shut. The had started the ascent, when suddenly, the metal box came to a jarring halt. Sherlock grabbed hold of the support bar in time, however, John was not so lucky. He fell back, falling onto his backside.

''Are you alright?" Sherlock asked after they stopped moving with the ricochet of the lift. John stood to his feet, and brushed off his blue jumper.

''Yea, I'm fine. What the hell happened? Why have we stopped?" John asked, looking up to see the lights above them flicker in and out of illumination. Sherlock didn't answer, but instead, pressed the emergency call button. Soon, the small phone held within the wall of the box was ringing, and he picked it up.

''Hello?'' Sherlock spoke. He nodded his head to whatever the voice on the other end was telling him, and John tried to listen in from behind him. Soon, the detective hung up, and turned to his friend.

''We are to be rescued within the hour. Apparently.'' His stoic voice said. John looked down at his watch, and sighed. He felt his stomach grumble angrily at him. 'Knew I should have made breakfast this morning.' He thought. Sherlock took to sitting on the floor of the lift, which swayed back and forth, a bit freely. John suddenly felt a pit in his stomach, the emptiness becoming more apparent as his nerves flooded it. John was a military man, yes. However, he was a military man who was not very fond of confined spaces. Claustrophobia, in it's worst form for him, came with elevators. Sure, he had grown used to using them, due to the fact that they were brief trips.

Unfortunately, he was currently trapped in a metal box for an hour, with the least sympathetic man alive, while said box was carelessly banging up against the long shoot that contained it. John felt his breathing growing a bit shallow, and he carefully slid down the wall to sit on the floor. The lift clattered loudly against the metal walls outside, and John couldn't control the slight whimper of fear that passed out of his mouth with a ragged breath. Sherlock looked up at his friend, and immediately saw the signs.

''I was unaware you were claustrophobic, John. Really, it will be alright. The technician's are on their way now. Should be out in no time.'' Sherlock rattled off the comforting phrases as if he were reading them from a script. John took a deep breath, which sent his head reeling with a dizzy feeling. He ran his fingers through his hair, and tapped a foot frantically. Sherlock sighed out, and gave the doctor a pointed look.

''John. Really. It's not as bad as you're making it out to be. Honestly, there are too many varying things that will prevent us from even entering a plunge to the main floor. Technically speaking, a lift only needs one cable to support the weight of the box and its passengers. Even then, were all the cables to break, we wouldn't exactly enter a free fall drop, as the mechanical safeties would activate, and slow us down. Even in the event of them not working, which is highly unlikely, the lift would compress the air at the bottom of the shaft. That, combined with an installed shock absorber cylinder, would prevent most injury, and give you a high rate of surviving the fall. So you see, there is hardly anything to worry over.'' Sherlock rattled off the odd knowledgeable facts to his friend, who was only growing more nervous with every detail. By the end of the speech, John Watson was near hyperventilation. The walls felt as if they were closing in on him, and Sherlock's low voice sounded louder and louder, echoing his words in his ears. John was gripping his hair tightly with one hand, and pulling at the collar of his jumper with the other. Sherlock groaned in frustration, as he tried to walk over to calm the army doctor. As soon as he stood up, the lift clanged against the side of the wall, sending poor John into hysterics. He too, stood, and began knocking on the door to the lift. The consulting genius only watched on as his friend clawed at the seam in the door, trying to pry it open. Soon, the lift moved, jumping back to life. It stopped at the next floor up, and the doors opened. John didn't waste any time in exiting the metal box. He breathed in and out, trying to regain enough oxygen in his lungs. He bent over, hands on his knees, as he inhaled slowly. When he finally felt his heart rate dropping to a normal level, he looked up. He was staring at a very concerned young woman, a clipboard held lose to her small frame.

''John, are you okay? You look as white as a sheet.'' The young pathologist spoke. John, not finding his voice just yet, breathed in and out as he nodded. He gave her a weak smile instead, and she walked by him. Sherlock nodded to her wordlessly as she entered the lift. The doors closed, and John's face shot up to hers. He couldn't manage the word 'don't' quickly enough. The lift made a whirring sound, before a jarring metal screech was heard throughout the shaft. Sherlock simply sighed out, before pulling his worried looking friend with him toward the lab.

''Let's hope she's not as easily scared as you. I can't have both of my assistant's rendered useless by a lift.''

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Well, there's that. Had to throw a bit of Molly in there. Teehee. Anyway, what do you think?


	4. Chapter 4

So, I realize it's been awhile since I updated this story...but I wasn't sure how to do this chapter until yesterday. Anyway, Chaosisblue asked for this a few months ago, and it's finally done! ENJOY!

Oh, I do not own ANYTHING owned by Sir ACD, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, or the BBC.

Stranded- The Box

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"It's good to be home!" The young woman exclaimed as she strolled down the street toward her home. The air was warm today, despite the heavy clouds that loomed overhead. Her two friends lagged behind, both admiring her from afar. They looked at each other and smiled as she took off into a sprint once the building was in sight.

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"Why do we have to come all the way out to Cardiff, Sherlock?" John whined as he stalked behind his friend. Sherlock rolled his eyes at his companion. He had been particularly moody the past couple of weeks, obviously as a result of having recently been dumped by yet another female.

"Because, it's the only place where I can find decent enough mold cultures from rubbish bins to test at the lab. Ah, Cardiff, the beautiful productive sector for single cell organisms." Sherlock said with a boyish grin as he walked down a particular alleyway. John rolled his eyes now, and sighed out in resignation. Sherlock was just about to hop into a rather decrepit looking skip, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

"What's that?" He asked, pointing to the large object. John turned, at first seeing nothing.

"What is what, Sherlock?" He asked, realizing it very well may be a small flea eating a bit of dust, of course something only Sherlock would notice. His friend gave him an incredulous look, and pointed again.

"That. That giant, oversized replica of an emergency police box. You know, the kind they used to have in place on the corners of London." Sherlock pointed again, and this time, John saw it. 'Hang on, how did I miss that?' he thought to himself. Before he could even think of a possible explanation, Sherlock was already at its side, looking it over thoroughly.

"Probably just one of those things for tourists to snap photos of." John finally retorted. The detective scoffed, and returned to looking at the signs on the door.

"In an alley? Really John?" came the sardonic response. John took it upon himself to look at the odd booth. It was a lovely royal blue color, though the wood grain seemed aged, bits of brown peeking through. He read over the sign in the white boxed portion, and looked up and down the entire thing again. Sherlock was the one who moved to open it first. He grabbed hold of the handle and gave a quick pull, expecting it to open for him. However, it didn't budge an inch. Sherlock's brows furrowed in frustrated confusion, as he tried and tried again. Finally, after seeing that it was a pointless endeavor, he attempted the opposite, and pushed on the blue door. Immediately, it flew open, and Sherlock all but fell inside the small booth. Or rather, the extremely spacious booth. Sherlock stood and immediately took to consuming the sight that mapped out before him. John peered a head in, and eventually stood completely inside, next to his friend. He gaped openly at the wires dangling from the ceiling, the large core looking section at the center of the room, the random lights of different colors. Then, black.

Sherlock merely sighed as he heard his best friend slump to the ground, clearly fainting from the intake of oddities. However, he felt compelled to search around the outside of the box again, wondering how this trick was being pulled off. He moved to the door and pushed, 'no, pulled', on the door's handle. It didn't budge. So he tried the opposite. Nothing. It didn't take the genius long to discover that, whatever building this was, his blogger and he were clearly now locked inside.

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John awoke to the small whirring and fizzing noises of whatever room he was currently in. His eyes adjusted, and he looked around, remembering what he had seen before he blacked out. Sherlock, of course, was nowhere to be seen. The doctor stood up, and looked around, trying to decipher where he was, and better still, where Sherlock was. Suddenly, a loud echo was heard from somewhere in the large building.

"John! There's a swimming pool! How are they doing this? This is the sixth room I've come across!" Sherlock's booming voice echoed off the metal walls, and John spun in a slow circle, trying to follow it back to the original direction it came from. He didn't have to worry, for soon, the consulting detective returned to the main area. His face held a positively giddy look on it, excitement overwhelming his usually harsh features.

They shared a classic look between them, seemingly holding a whole conversation without a word being spoken. Sherlock had just taken to stepping up to the platform where the large core was, when the door to the outside opened. Laughter could be heard entering, and they both turned to see three people stepping through the door. John was immediately taken with the pretty blonde who stood in front of him. She had been smiling, until their eyes met.

"Hang on, who are you?" She asked, looking back to one of the two men standing behind her. The one shrugged, and then turned to the other, who also signaled they were in the dark. Sherlock had taken that time to hop down from the stairs and join his friend's side. At the sight of him, one of the men swooped in and posted a charming smile.

"Hi there, Captain Jack Harkness, and who might you be, tall dark and handsome?" The man rattled off the introduction, and John nearly gaped at the added flirtation. However, Sherlock didn't seem to pick up on the advance, and merely stuck his hand out.

"Sherlock Holmes. This is Doctor John Watson, my friend and colleague." He shook hands with the man 'Jack'. The blonde spoke this time, her voice young and filled with happy excitement.

"Ooh, look, Doctor. Another doctor! Do you live in a big blue box too?" She said with a hint of mirth and sarcasm. John looked in confusion as he stared into the wide, manic eyes of this other doctor. He offered up his hand this time, wanting to meet the fellow medical man.

"Ah, hello, yes. I'm Doctor John Watson, and you are..."

"Just the Doctor. It's a pleasure to meet you. Now, how did you get inside?" The man spoke, his voice rolling effortlessly with a curiosity that John normally only heard in Sherlock. He looked over to Sherlock, who was currently in some sort of staring match with the tall captain. He spoke, not looking away from the smooth talking man.

"I opened the front door and stepped inside. Are you aware your sign is inaccurate? It says to 'pull' to open. However, I had to push it open to get in here. Odd, don't you think?" Sherlock's stoic voice cut through the echo of the room. The Doctor grinned a bit at his answer, and then had another curious glint in his eye.

"Yes, but how did you _see_ it in the first place?" He was now looking over the pair of them, not angrily or bitterly, but with boyish wonderment. The blonde girl who now stood to the side was fighting off a smirk, and desperately losing.

"I saw something in my peripheral line of vision, turned my head, opened my eyes, and looked. From there, my brain fired off receptive neurons which transposed the image captured by my sight and translated it to my mind, which then determined that I was, indeed, looking at a giant blue box in an alleyway in Cardiff. Simple anatomical science, really. Surely, as a doctor, you know these things." Sherlock spouted off, turning his head to look at the spiky haired man. He was greeted with a cheesy smile, and a chuckle of pure amusement.

"I like this one! He's really clever!" The Doctor spoke, pointing to Sherlock. The detective turned to stare back at Captain Jack, who had a clever smile on his face.

"Handsome _and_ clever, I like the combination." He gave Sherlock a wink, to which he received an aghast look of shock in return. John had to hide his smirk, finally glad he wasn't inferred to be in a relationship for once. The pretty blonde girl stepped closer this time, and thrust her hand out in front of him.

"I'm Rose, by the way." John met her hand with his own, and gave a firm grip. She smiled brightly at him, and John felt a bit less...brooding. He had simply taken to staring at her as the other doctor engaged in conversation with Sherlock. He had all but blocked out their conversation, until Sherlock's voice cut through.

"John, she's only nineteen. Hardly old enough for you to be drooling over. Besides, I am fairly certain her heart already lays claim to the 'Doctor'." He said, hiding a small smirk as John's eyes widened angrily. Rose giggled a bit, before biting her lower lip to try to stop it. John sighed out, and rolled his eyes.

"Well, we better be off. Places to go, people to see, planets to save. You know, regular Tuesday type stuff." The Doctor said after a moment. Sherlock strolled toward the door, not even remotely jarred by the statement. John, however, stumbled with mouth agape, trying to find the words he wanted.

"Hang...hang on. D-did you just say 'planets to save'?" He tripped out the door, bumping into Sherlock's back. The three people all stuck their heads out to say goodbye.

"It was fantastic meeting you two!" The Doctor said with a wide, still manic smile.

"Bye!" The pretty blonde 'Rose' had called out. She waved happily, and John couldn't help but smirk like a smitten schoolboy at her.

"See ya, smart and sexy." Jack called out, sending Sherlock a smirk and a wink. The detective stood there, not responding in the least. Jack's grin widened.

"Playing hard to get, I like that." He said before disappearing behind the door. The other two had already gone, until Rose stuck her head back through the door.

"John! Don't go just yet. You're gonna want to see this." She said with a smile and a nod of her head. John stood where he was, unsure of what to expect. Suddenly, a huge gust of wind picked up around them, coming from the blue box. A loud whirring sound, similar to an engine, roared through the air, ebbing and flowing as it tried to get a good start. Just then, when John was about to turn to leave, he saw it. Or rather, didn't see it. It slowly disappeared, becoming transparent and finally, after a few minutes, completely vanished from sight. John looked to Sherlock, who stood next to him, nodding slightly as if he approved of the extraordinary sight he just witnessed. John's mind finally processed what he had seen, at which point, he blacked out again, forcing Sherlock to lug him to the nearest spot for a cab to return the to 221B Baker Street.

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So, basically Captain Jack taking a shine to Sherlock is my new favorite crossover headcanon. lol. It cracked me up. I hope you liked it too. Let me know what you think. PLEEEAAASSSEEE?


	5. Chapter 5

Well, it's been quite awhile, hasn't it? Lol, our dear darling prompter, Sarah, aka Chaosisblue on tumblr, has finally given me some places in which she wants our heroes stuck. So, I set out to write them, when oddly enough, my own brain came up with one. So, it's a bonus chapter, sort of my gift to her, and all of you. I hope you enjoy!

Also, be forewarned, the amount of subtext in this chapter is outstanding. You have been formally informed.

**Once again, I don't own anything or anyone depicted in this story.**

Stranded-The Loo:

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When John looked back on how they had ended up in this spot, he had to laugh. They had been going around to many of the members of Sherlock's homeless network, paying them off for their continued cooperation and favors. By the end of the day, John could hardly wait to wash himself off. However, a hot shower at home would have to wait, as Lestrade phoned them about a case. Urgent. So, they whizzed to St. Bart's to see the body in question. As they approached the morgue, John could practically feel the germs of London crawling over his skin.

"Sherlock, I need to wash up. I can't, in good conscience, go inspect a cadaver with all of these germs and bacteria. It could have a serious impact on the result of the case." He said pointedly to the detective. Sherlock looked down the hall, eagerly wanting to look at the dead man awaiting them. He then sighed, before nodding in agreement.

"You have a point. Besides, we wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation as a doctor. Very well, let's 'wash up'." He said with a tinge of frustrated impatience. The two entered the men's room next to them in the hall, completely missing the poorly adhered sign that hung from a single piece of tape.

'**OUT OF ORDER. **

**LOCK IS BROKEN.**

**DO ****NOT**** USE.**'

As the door shut behind them, both Sherlock and John heard the latch fall from its position and straight down, thus dropping the metal bolt far down into the door. They looked at each other, and John immediately went over to the handle, jiggling it back and forth. The metal rattled more, before it loudly clanged again, a low 'chunk' sounding from the mechanisms within.

"Shit." John muttered to himself, a deep sigh leaving his lungs.

"We're locked in. I'm going to text Lestrade." He said as he turned to Sherlock, who rolled his eyes at the inconvenience of it all.

"Of course. Fantastic idea, washing our hands in here, as opposed to waiting opposed to waiting the thirty feet until we reached the morgue, using the sink in there. Who's brilliant idea was this again?" He snipped, raising an accusing brow at the doctor, who scowled in response.

"Stop pouting and help me try to get the door opened again."

Sherlock let out a long sigh, before walking over to the door. He copied John's action of shaking the handle a bit. He then placed his ear to the door, as if listening for the fault. The lock clattered and chinked within the heavy door as Sherlock slowly twisted the knob. Finally, he stepped away from the door altogether.

"Well?" John asked in anticipation. His tall cohort nodded his head in realization.

"We may be able to burst the door down, with the right leverage and force." Sherlock explained as he pointed to the loose handle. He then looked around the restroom for something to use as a counterweight, holding the door up as they tried to work the lock free again. Finding nothing but a plastic bin, he looked to John, who seemed to catch his wordless revelation.

"Oh, sure. I have to be the leverage because I'm 'meatier', don't I?" John grumped under his breath. Sherlock smirked at his scorned friend's statement. They worked out how they could possibly manage the task, and soon took to actually working the door.

"Why isn't Lestrade answering his bloody texts?" John had grunted as he pushed his entire weight up and against the door.

OoOo

Molly Hooper had received the page that she was needed immediately at the hospital. Tired as she was, she still made her way to the morgue. The cup of coffee in her hand (hers this time, not Sherlock's) was warm, relaxing her a bit. However, she was startled out of her own tired thoughts as she passed by the men's loo. A loud banging sounded from the other side of the closed door, followed by a dull grunt. Molly's brow furrowed as she approached the door. The grunt came again, followed by a voice.

"Come on, John. Really put your back into it. I need the same pressure for it to do any good." She could hear the distinct boom of Sherlock's voice in the bathroom. The door banged again against its frame work, followed by a deep groan, John's voice to follow this time.

"Yes, well, easy for you to say. I'm doing...all the...work, now...aren't I?" He stuttered over his words, his breathing obviously short and labored. Molly's eyes widened a bit, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. The banging and rattling of the door handle became faster in pace, as did the grunts of the two men. Molly had gone pink, looking around the hall to see if anyone else was hearing what she was.

"Yes. That's it, John. Stay just...just like that. I've almost got it now!" Sherlock huffed out. Molly's mouth fell open further, her mind asking, begging her legs to move. Just then, Greg Lestrade strode down the hall toward her, phone in his hand. Just as he reached her, he looked up with a smile.

"Hello, Molly. What are you up to?" He asked casually. She jumped at his question, however, stumbling in search of her words.

"Up to? I...I...um..." It was then that the door burst open, two very disheveled looking men falling out through it. The shorter landed roughly on the taller one, who had already been crouched, as it would seem. They both let out a loud, pained groan as they rolled off of the floor.

"Oh, so you got it, eh? That didn't take as long as I figured it might. I was just about to come and see how I could help." Lestrade stated cheekily. The men both glared at him, before they took note of a beet root Molly, coffee cup at her feet, and leaking out its contents onto the floor. Her wide eyes looked frantically at them.

"Molly?" John asked in a concerned tone.

"It's...it uh...it's okay. It's fine. I wasn't...um...it's all fine." She mumbled, before turning and shuffling, no, racing, down the hall. John immediately caught the phrase, as well as the cause for her flustered state. He glowered and looked to Sherlock.

"What?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Lol, I told you...LOTS of subtext. But it was so much fun to write, and then when I typed it out, I kept laughing at it myself. Good one, plot bunnies...good one. Anyway, there's that. I hope you all liked it! Leave me a review so I know what you thought. More chapters to come in the near future. So stay tuned.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you all sooooo much for the reviews on the last one. I seriously had so much fun writing it, so I'm glad you all thought it was hilarious too. Anyway, this chapter is different from the others, in that there isn't any Johnlock. However, I feel I more than make up for it with the funny revenge that does ensue in the later half. I hope you all can still enjoy it, even with the switch up. It just sort of happened. Lol. K, next chapter!

**Oh, I don't own BBC, Sherlock Holmes, any of the characters/actors/creators, or Disney. Just saying. It's not mine. At all.**

Stranded- Disneyland Paris

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

John was all too proud of this situation. However, he wasn't sure how they had managed to get caught up in the mess in the first place. Or rather, how _Sherlock_ had found caught them up in it. Hell, Sherlock wasn't even supposed to be here. The army doctor had selected this trip as the one on which he would finally propose to Miss Mary Morstan. It had been planned out for weeks now, and John had even paid for a catered dinner even that included help from the staff at the park. So, he and his lovely girlfriend set out to their holiday at Disneyland in Paris. Beautiful, peaceful, romantic Paris, away from work, stress, crime, and Sherlock. Well, or so he thought.

OoOo

They had gone on the several coasters that Mary fancied so much. She couldn't quite convince him to take a ride on the tight squeeze rides that dropped in mere seconds. But they had, nonetheless, had a fun time for the day. It was in the early evening, when they went to dinner. John had guided her to her seat, and told her to order whatever she liked. As Mary glanced over the menu, she caught John standing to leave.

"Where are you going?" She asked with a playful smile. John quirked his brow at her, before leaning in and kissing her.

"I'll be right back. Just need to use the loo." He stated. Mary giggled and returned her gaze to the menu items.

John was in the middle of frantically changing into his uniform. He had smoothed out the wrinkles on his dress jacket, straightening the bars on his chest.

"Well, old sport, are you ready for this?" He asked himself in the mirror.

"Do you always talk to yourself when I'm not around?" Came a low voice from behind him. John had not flinched at all, aside from rolling his eyes and sighing in resignation.

"Oh no. What is it? What are you doing here?" He asked, before turning to greet his flatmate. Sherlock stood before him, an amused smile on his face.

"How's the proposal coming? Has she said yes?" he asked.

"She hasn't been asked yet. Why do you think I'm...don't avoid the question. Why are you here?" John motioned to his attired, before angrily shaking his head.

"There's a professional hit man. Here at the park. Apparently he's here to kill the Prime Minister tomorrow during his visit. I've been asked to prevent that from happening by catching him today."

"You mean you've been told to catch him today. By Mycroft." John countered knowingly, with a smug grin. Sherlock huffed out a sigh, before nodding his head. John was about to ask what this had to do with him, and why he was in this section of the park, when a loud scream came from the courtyard.

"Mary..." John had gone pale, and he immediately took off toward the place he had left her. As he reached it, he saw Mary standing over the large, and quite unconscious body of a suited waiter. The large candelabra in her hands was still hoisted in a defensive mode, ready to swing if the man got up. Her breathing was labored, her eyes wide as she looked down at the brute.

"Mary, are you alright?" John rushed to her side, pulling her into his arms as she finally dropped the impromptu weapon. She began to sob softly in his shoulder. Meanwhile, Sherlock was zip-tying the apparent assassin's hands behind his back.

"What happened, my dear?" John asked her. Mary sniffled into his chest as she gripped his shoulders.

"He...he began serving the wine, and...and then said I should...watch who I...spend my time with." She looked up to him, and then over to Sherlock. "He grabbed me by the arm...and went to take me somewhere. So...so I grabbed the candle holder and hit him ov...er the head w-with it." She sniffled again, trying to regain some composure. John sighed, before he pulled her delicately away from the scene. It was only then that she had noticed just how he looked.

"John...wh-what is this? Why are you wearing your dress uniform?" She asked through teary eyes. John sighed and chuckled softly, before looking at her.

"Mary...you know I love you, yes?" He asked. Mary nodded her head. "I want to be with you...always. I want to protect you, even if being with me is more _dangerous_ than not." Mary smiled as she watched him work through the nervousness.

"I...well, this was all for...I was going to ask, but...what do you want, Mary?" John took her hands in his own, running his thumbs gently over her knuckles. Mary's smile grew tenfold, and she leaned in to whisper to him.

"I think you should ask your question." John smiled at her boyishly, before straightening his uniform, and bending on one knee.

"Mary Morstan, will you do me the great honor of marrying me, despite the danger it may expose you to, and despite the fact that we may have to _raise_ my best friend, insufferable man child that he is?" John chuckled, and Mary did so too, until he presented her with the sparkling ring. She gasped, allowing him to slip it onto her finger.

"Of course I will! Come here, you!" She gleamed, pulling him up to kiss him thoroughly. They stayed that way, until a throat cleared from beside them. John rolled his eyes, and looked to Sherlock.

"What? I'm a bit busy, if you hadn't noticed." He huffed out. Sherlock smirked, before opening his mouth to speak.

"It seems that I am in your debt, Mary Morstan. You made this case extremely easy to solve. Thank you. I must state, if there is anything I can do to repay you, I would most happily oblige." John's eyes went almost buggy.

"Mary, this is a _very_ big moment. Think this through." He stated. She laughed, before thinking it over. As if having a cliché light bulb moment, Mary's face lit with the spark of something truly mischievous.

"I know what I want." She stated proudly. Sherlock visibly gulped down a breath.

"What?"

OoOo

Mary and john walked around the theme park, hand clasped tightly together. She would stand in the lines for the rides, staring at her ring, watching the way it glistened from different angles. Meanwhile, John would switch between watching her, and watching his best friend, always a few steps behind them, always looking miserable. The detective's face looked utterly displeased whenever he managed to glance over to him.

"She _did_ catch a criminal for you, mate. The very least you an do is enjoy a day off with us, riding fun rides at the happiest place on earth. Like she asked you to." John smiled snidely, remembering to emphasize that this was Sherlock's way of 'repaying' Mary. Sherlock was currently moping as they waited in line for "It's a Small World". The catchy tune filled the air, around them, and soon, the next ferry arrived, empty and ready for more passengers. The happy couple boarded one row, and Sherlock attempted to sit next to them.

"I'm sorry sir, you have to sit in the next row." the man at the gate stated, his accent thick in his nose. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but slid into the row behind John and Mary all the same. Beside him came a small girl, excitedly bounding onto the boat as she sat down next to him. She was no more than ten, with wavy brown hair, and a gap between her front teeth. She happily waved to her parents, who snapped photo after photo of her on the ride. Soon, they were off. The song played loudly, surrounding them with the cheerful refrain. The other people on the boat sang along, all except for Sherlock, who was currently pinching the bridge of his nose. Just then, he felt a small tap on his shoulder. He looked down to see the child gazing up at him with concern.

"Hey mister, are you okay?" She asked. '_Ah, American. No wonder the parents decided against the ride. They're smart.'_ he nodded his head. The tune continued, and the girl hummed with it, both loudly and off-key. Sherlock looked to john for salvation, but found none, as the army doctor currently exchanged saliva with his new fiancee. Then, the ride stopped. Completely. Soon after, a voice announcing the inconvenient news, the ride was broken down, sounded over the intercom. John chuckled as he heard his friend groan out loud in agony.

OoOo

After being stuck in the ride for forty minutes, they finally climbed out of the boat at the exiting gate. By this time, Sherlock had learned little 'Celia's' life story, as well as the song of his new found torture, in at least six new languages. He sighed in relief at seeing the daylight. That sigh, turned into a breath of panic, as he heard Mary speak.

"We should go on that one again." Sherlock whipped around to face them, eyes wide with fury and pleading, only to find both Mary and John laughing hysterically at him. They moved away from the obnoxious music, and onto other parts of the park. However, on occasion, one or both of the two blond adults would begin to sing it quietly, just enough for the world's most irritated consulting detective to hear. "It's a small, small world."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

teehee, like I said, different from the others. But, I had fun with it...and I hope you did too. For those of you who are unfamiliar, that ride is regarded as one of the most catchy, and probably most obnoxious, rides in theme park history. The ride itself is pretty cool, with tons of animatronic dolls that are both adorable, and yet terrifying (especially if you're a Whovian). I always find it utterly torturous, so I can only imagine poor Sherlock would be ripping his hair out by the end of being stuck inside that ride so long. :D K, let me know what you think. Thanks, love you all my dears!


	7. Chapter 7

Well, I'm FINALLY getting this chapter typed and posted...after having it finished for seriously, about 2 weeks! Lol. Sorry to my muse, Sarah, for taking so long with this. But hey, just be happy it's here finally, yea? :)

Anyway, hm, what was I going to say: Oh yea...

**I don't own anything. Any and all characters that are not mine already belong to someone else. Basically, nothing is mine. Lol. **

**Enjoy!**

Stranded: In America

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_Atlanta, GA: Hartsfield - Jackson Airport_

_Fourteen hours after the plane was supposed to take off for Heathrow Airport, and home. _

And yet, here sat Sherlock Holmes, as well as his faithful blogger, John Watson. The first of their attempts to return to London had been thwarted by rain. A _lot_ of rain. The flight was delayed, and inevitably canceled after three hours. Already, John was more than a tad upset.

"It would figure that the day before my wedding you would drag me halfway across the globe for a bloody case. Stag party, my arse." He grumbled to the man sitting beside him. Sherlock only sighed and rolled his eyes, before staring at the paper in his hands once more. Despite the delays, the consulting detective seemed to be relaxed, almost happy. It was far beyond what John would call 'disturbing'.

"Sherlock...I figured you'd be far from pleased about being stuck here." He spoke up, just short of finishing his third cup of coffee.

"Oh, on the contrary, John. This airport has proved to be most captivating. Lots of things to keep my mind occupied while we wait for a new flight. For instance, that small girl three aisles over," He pointed to the row in question, John following the invisible line to the child. "has been sneaking snacks from her mother's purse for the past twenty minutes, obviously a seasoned expert for being someone of seven...no wait, eight." Sherlock smirked as she fished out another piece of chocolate from her unsuspecting mother's bag. She glanced around, before looking them in the eye. John smiled a bit, but it was Sherlock's face that had broken into a wide and mischievous smirk. She had gone wide eyed at being caught, but soon, her smirk matched that of the detective's. She held up a finger to her lips, signaling them to be quiet, before slipping the small square treat into her mouth.

"Or that gentleman at the bar across the way," Sherlock pointed again, this time to a very rough-looking man in a suit. "Recently cheated on his wife of twenty years. Twenty years, yes, I know. The golden watch on his wrist is from a very specific brand, also a very special and limited line of anniversary jewelry. Ah, he cheated _very_ recently, withing the past fifteen minutes to be exact. With that young lady at the bar next to him. First time of infidelity...the new ones always look so obviously guilty." John sighed out, almost in sympathy for the very guilt-stricken man. Sherlock was dissecting his entire life, and he was altogether unaware. Sherlock smiled a bit, before turning to his friend.

"Americans, John. Such intriguing little affairs they get into." John almost growled at how insufferable he sounded. The doctor stood up, and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm just going to check when we might catch the next flight home." John said through gritted teeth, leaving to go get a seat on the soonest flight available.

OoOo

Of course, this had brought on the second delay of their return trip.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but the next flight isn't leaving for another seven hours. If you'd like, I can book you a flight that goes to...Germany, in ten minutes, and then connects to a flight to London after a three hour layover." the older woman said as she scanned through the options on her computer. John sighed out in desperation, before shaking his head.

"No, no we'll just take the one that's direct." He dreaded the idea of the incoming call he was then receiving on his mobile, and would later regret having not taken that flight to Germany.

"Hello, Mary?"

OoOo

And thus began a seven hour wait. In the first three, John had had to get up and walk around four times to prevent his urge to punch the detective. Sherlock had been incessantly whining about being bored. Apparently, people in the Atlanta airport were only amusing and interesting to an extent.

"Our flight leaves in four hours, Sherlock. Now. We're done with the case, and I'm about to get married." John spoke, the enigmatic man-child rolled his eyes.

"So?"

"So..._you_ have to get some rest. I'll not have my best man looking half dead. I don't think Mary will either. So, just...take a nap." He huffed out, becoming more agitated by the second. Sherlock smirked, which earned a glaring scowl from the doctor.

"What?"

"Nothing at all, John." Perhaps you should take a nap as well. You seem a bit..." He paused, as if trying to think of the right word.

"A bit what, Sherlock? Tense, stressed, bloody-well pissed off?" John snapped, wanting to slap his friend.

"I was going to say 'tired', though those others are also good choices." He replied bluntly. John simply muttered a few profanities to himself, before huddling down into one of the bench style seats.

"Just take a bloody break from being your insufferable self, and Go. To. _Sleep._" John said bitterly, before closing his eyes. Sherlock chuckled a bit, before sighing, and closing his eyes as well. However, he chose instead of resting, to go and sort out a few neglected areas of his mind palace.

OoOo

Sure enough, four hours passed by rather quickly, the two men brought back to attention by the voice on the PA system calling for their flight. John was the first to wake, and he carefully lifted his head off of Sherlock's shoulder. The doctor's eyes flew wide open at the realization that he had, in fact, literally used his flatmate as a body pillow. _'People will definitely talk'_, he thought to himself. Sherlock was still as the grave, until John nudged him roughly.

"Sherlock. Come on, wake up, it's us." he saw the detective open his eyes immediately, and sighed upon his realization that the man still hadn't properly slept. Sherlock's eyes had almost seemed soft, until he sat upright, his stoic disposition snapping back to his face like lightning.

"Yes, John. I know, I heard the woman." He quipped crankily. John rolled his eyes, electing to stay silent. They stood in the line, until they were near the gate to board the plane. That, of course, was when the flight attendant made the socially awkward announcement, followed by the most dreaded request.

"We've um...we've overbooked this flight, I'm afraid. We need four people to take the next flight." Immediately, a young couple offered their seats, and the rest of the people remained silent. The woman looked around, before sighing slightly in despair.

"We'll catch the next flight, as well." Came a deep voice. John's eyes slammed shut in frustration.

"Sherlock, no." He said, and looked up to see the sheer look of relief on the young lady's face.

"Oh, thank you so much. If you step over here, we'll arrange for your new flight, and bump you up to first class, no charge." She pointed them in the direction of the ticket counter. Sherlock smiled a bit, seemingly proud of himself.

"Sherlock, why would you do that? I'm getting _married_ in...Oh God, in _**THIRTEEN **_hours! Or rather, I will be, if my bride doesn't decide my headache of a best friend is not worth all the trouble." John scowled. Sherlock gave him a confused look, and glanced around.

"I was doing a kindness to the young stewardess. Obviously new, nervous about her probationary trial with this airline. I thought you would be proud of my...politeness." Sherlock sighed a bit sadly, coming to look at John's hard expression.

"For once, Sherlock, no. In this case, no, I'd much rather you be an utter ponce and get us home."

"Oh."

"It's fine. We just need the next flight. No exceptions." John took a deep breath, trying to calm his fraying nerves. The flight was four hours later, and a _very_ nervous John fidgeted with his hands in his lap.

"Why aren't we taking off yet?" he leaned over and asked Sherlock. The clever man smirked at John's anxiety, and refused to answer. Soon though, the wheels of the plane began to move, and after a few bumpy and stomach flipping moments, they were soaring in the air, heading back to London.

OoOo

If he could have got off the plane as soon as the wheels touched down, he would have. However, John was patient enough (just enough) to wait until their terminal allowed them to exit. He checked his watch.

"Sherlock, don't argue with me for the next...45 minutes. Just, just follow me." he said sternly to the silent man. They quickly left Heathrow, and hit the street, where John grabbed the nearest cab.

"Right, mate, I'll give you 200 quid extra if you run every light between here and Bristol. _Please_." John shoved the wad of money into the cabbie's hand as he slid into the back seat. Sherlock slid in from the opposite side and looked at John with amusement.

"You got it, mate." the driver called, his foot pressing hard onto the pedal.

OoOo

Dressed to the nines, John quickly strolled through the doors and into the garden. Sherlock made his way behind him, coming to a stop at his friend's side. Just as they reached the front, the bridal march began to play. John turned to watch his soon-to-be-wife walk down the aisle toward him. John smiled as he took in the sight of her. As she came to his side, he noted her unamused face.

"Cutting it a bit close, aren't we?" She muttered. The nervous groom began to stutter his apologies, when he caught her mischievous smirk. John sighed and chuckled softly. They turned toward the priest, neither one paying any mind to the consulting, and somehow _sleeping _detective.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

There you go, my lovelies. Sorry for the delay. This chapter just didn't want to be typed out, for whatever reason. But YAY for it being done now...now I can focus on the BILLIONS of other plot bunnies I have going on at the moment. Love you all, leave me a review and tell me what you think. Thanks!


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